Why on earth would you want to move? Especially to the countryside? Everyone else is trying to escape to the city, and you two are doing the opposite. Whats so enchanting out there? I cant wrap my head around it. Perhaps its lovely in the summertime, but come winter theres just nothing to do.
I have a friendher names Alicewho did everything she could to stop us from moving to the country. It really irritated me and my husband, David. As though we were obliged to follow her wishes instead of our own.
After nearly a year of searching, we finally managed to find a place that suited us, and we moved in. Alice would ring me every single day, almost mocking me, asking if Id found a job yet. She knew full well that I worked from home and had no intention of changing that. Then shed prod, Isnt the internet absolute rubbish out there?
Alice paid us a visit at the beginning of October. It had already been over a year since wed moved. She wandered hesitantly through our little plot and then spent most of her time inside drinking ale with her husband, Henry, over the two days they stayed.
Despite having guests, we kept trundling down to the cellar with crates of vegetables and jars of preserves. On their third morning, Alice and Henry began shoving things into bags, catching the evening coach back to London. We didnt give them any parting gifts. But then Alice herself asked if we could spare a sack of potatoes and some apples.
I offered to nip down and fetch them from the cellar, but they declined, their hangover still in full bloom. I gave them a sack and some buckets and told them to get the apples themselves. They grumbled about the state of the buckets but went off to pick fruit anyway. I wondered how on earth theyd lug everything on the coach, but as soon as they returned, it made sensetheyd asked David to drive them back to the city.
It was a round trip of nearly three hours. David caught on quickly and said hed just had a pint, so he wasnt driving anywhere. So off they trotted with their onions and apples, vanishing from our lives for years. Wed phone each other now and then, naturally. But they never came back to the countryside. I suppose I ought to feel bad, but honestly, maybe some people just dont belong in my little village.
Then, out of nowhere, at the end of November, they showed up at our door, unannounced. Thought wed surprise you! Alice declared. It was a weekend, and we werent exactly prepared. Id been prepping fowl all week and had a stack of Christmas orders still to finish. Three steers were still waiting to be sorted that very day. Well, a surprise is a surprise.
I hastily laid the table. Alice and Henry settled in to eat and drink; David and I nibbled and busied ourselves, occasionally chipping in with conversation. It wouldve been a help if theyd known how to pluck poultrybut they didnt. And were country folk.
All my birds had already been reserved for Christmas by regulars in the village. Wed planned to slaughter a few for ourselves and our parents before the holidays. Still, it felt awkward. I ended up offering them a goose, but warned theyd have to pluck it themselves. Tomorrow, they said.
The next day arrived. Silence. I thought: Well, thats that. This time theyd driven themselves, fortunately, and bought a chicken. Before departing, I handed them some vegetables and picklespick what you like, I told them. They jammed the boot full. I dont mind; its nice to share. Weve enough to last us ages.
But then, Alice dropped the oddest question: Havent got a spare joint of beef, have you?
I told her no. Truly, there wasnt any to spare. First we fill our orders, and then well deal with the cattle. Were hardly up to our eyes in work, but we do need to make a living. And, anyway, if we had any extra, there are parents, siblings, cousins.
I suppose theyre cross with us now. Alice hasnt rung or written since. A mutual friend let slip that were stingy. We went to the country and left empty-handed, shed told her.
Ah, the odd things people expect in the countrydreamlike, isnt it?
